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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480443">double-sided</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd'>shutupnerd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Happy Birthday, I love my boys, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, somehow this is pregame and ingame, thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:21:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>hinata and kamukura’s thoughts run parallel.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>double-sided</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy birthday to my favorite characters in the whole world !!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Hinata. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name rattled around an overstuffed brain like a fly buzzing in the living room, banging into glass windowpanes, desperately searching for escape from a swatter that gets closer every time it swings. He’d only heard it from one person in reference to him, but one was more than enough, wasn’t it? She was dead now--there was nobody left to refer to him as anything but Kamukura. Her hairclip rested in the palm of his hand now. He didn’t know her. She knew him. Did she? Or was he mistaken for someone else--no, that would be illogical. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hinata.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was a woefully common name. So common, in fact, that it could have been a given name or a surname. So everything about the boy who had come before had been average. An average name, an average build, an average mind. He was anything but average now. Exceptional in every manner. The old him would undoubtedly have bored him endlessly. But was it accurate to call Hinata the “old” him? Were they the same? Izuru was an artificial creation, to be sure. There was no way around it. But was he new, or just a rearrangement of preexisting parts? The dead girl had that answer. But necromancy wasn’t a talent achievable by man. The answer died with Hope’s Peak High School and a girl with pink hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kamukura. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name danced around Hajime’s head, almost like a bird caught in a grocery store. It distracted him from his schoolwork in front of him. Chemistry--levels of ionization. He didn’t understand it. If he took the offer, accepted the project, he would. Homework would be a second thought, completed in moments. It would take him an hour to finish the worksheet. Another hour to study what he had barely eked out. Five hours of sleep, because he had algebra at 8 am. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kamukura. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t a name he was allowed to say. Not even his parents knew. Every text back home was a lie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, my grades are great. I’m making tons of friends. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t think forcing out an awkward conversation every now and then with Sato counted. There was Chiaki, but she was in the Main Course. Was he even allowed to count her as a friend? He’d say as much to Chiaki, and she’d swat him on the arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Of course we’re friends, Hinata. I don’t play games with just anyone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kamukura. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Would she like him more, if he underwent the project? He hoped so. At the very least, they’d stand on equal ground. She said it didn’t matter, that talent wasn’t the end goal. By all rights, in her words, he had a lot more freedom than she did. It certainly didn’t feel that way. The security guard, the one who spat in his face, sounded more correct. Another gear in the machine of mediocrity. Useless and replaceable. He stood in front of the board of trustees with a straight spine and a strong voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be your hope. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are our hope. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was what they had drilled into him. After day and night of nothing but endless boredom and useless testing, that was what they’d say. As if it would placate him. As if it would somehow make him care. As if it would alleviate the nothing that they put him through constantly. The only interest came when something went wrong. The time he got sick. When Junko crashed through the door and promised him the apocalypse on a string. A god in an ant farm, she’d called him. Well, it was one of the things she had been right about. The people around him were mindless. Useless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are our hope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Junko had ripped any and all meaning from those words. Hope and despair as concepts were pulling him in different directions, each whispering promises that threatened to be empty. Komaeda was no exception to the rule, tossing the words around like penny candy. He idolized hope. But he did not quite idolize Izuru. He served him, yes, but it was adjacent to true worship. There was a semblance of challenge between them. Questions and answers bounced back and forth, even when neither spoke a word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You knew the dead girl, then.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah yes, Nanami. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His sigh had been wistful. As if he missed her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She was lovely, you know. She really was what held the class together. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did she ever mention a Hinata?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought about it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m afraid I’m not the one to ask, Kamukura. My memory has rather deteriorated since she passed, you know. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It made sense that nobody knew Hinata. As common as a name it was, Hinata could have been anyone. Just a face in the crowd. Why did he seek him out, then, if he knew so surely that Hinata was a talentless nobody? Someone who contributed nothing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who are you, Hinata?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who are you, Kamukura?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because it wasn’t him--it </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t be him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>That’s not me! </em>
  </b>
  <span>Is what he yells, his mind racing too fast to even comprehend. Junko laughs in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But that’s what you are! You’re Izuru Kamukura!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kamukura isn’t him. Kamukura </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be him, because he has always always </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>been just Hinata and nothing more. If he had become something more than himself, he wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have put his friends through this nightmare. But were they his friends? If he was just useless, boring, average Hajime Hinata, how would he know all these special people? How would he know Chiaki, Komaeda, any of them? None of it made sense. He was just Hinata. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet...something whispers at the back of his mind. A tickling memory, shoved away like a sneeze in a silent library. It is not him. It is most assuredly not him. That voice can’t be him, for how drained and tired it is, for how </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is. Hajime is tired, Hajime is exhausted, but he cares too deeply for anything else to matter. His head feels like it’s about to split in two. This is wrong. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he is not Izuru Kamukura. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My name is Hajime Hinata. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That is what the other voice in his head shoves out, once they’re disentangled enough to think of themselves as individuals. A name. A full name. Hajime Hinata. He is scared. He is not Izuru. And Izuru is certainly not him. So there’s one question answered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he will answer some of Hajime’s, as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My name is Izuru Kamukura. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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